


A Second Chance – A Connor Murphy Story

by fictionalalternatehistories



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: F/M, M/M, Resurrection, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalalternatehistories/pseuds/fictionalalternatehistories
Summary: I love DEH. I also recently read the novel and loved it. But the novel really got me thinking about the character of Connor Murphy. This was my attempt to put some of those musings on paper.
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The room wasn’t a room. It was instead a _concept_ of a room. The walls were made of fog and even as Connor tried to touch one, his fingers simply passed through it.

“I wouldn’t encourage that,” an unfamiliar voice spoke.

Connor blinked in shock. There was a stranger in the room and since… whatever the fuck happened at the hospital, nobody had been able to interact with him. Nobody, except of course for Evan Hansen.

The man in front of Connor wore solid black. Everything from his brightly polished shoes to his neatly cut suit was bespoke midnight. But his eyes shone grey like distant stars. Connor didn’t want to look too deeply into those eyes, he was afraid he might fall into them. The man was white, at least as far as Connor could tell. There was something odd about his face, as though the lines weren’t fully formed.

Connor didn’t know him. Yet there was something familiar about his face.

“Are you God?” Connor asked. He had expected to be afraid and yet, instead, he felt a kind of numb wonderment.

“No,” the stranger smiled. “None of the paradigms you use for such things really fit with what I am.”

“You’re that special huh?” Connor said, he wasn’t sure why he had the sudden desire to give this guy attitude, but there was something about that face that brought out the worst in him.

The man shrugged, it seemed an oddly human gesture. “There are others like me of course.” Then he took a seat on a plain wooden chair, at a plain wooden table. Neither had been there a moment earlier.

Connor approached the table, but did not take a seat at the suddenly-available-chair. “ _What_ are you?”

“Something you don’t have a name for,” the man told him quietly. “Something older than planets or stars, something which exists entirely out of time and space.”

Connor sighed and sat down. It was odd, given that he didn’t have a body anymore, that he suddenly felt _tired_. “That really doesn’t answer my question.”

“Alright.” The man sighed. “If you were to combine your understanding of angels, psychopomps, deities and aliens and then squint, _really_ hard, you might find a picture vaguely approximating what I am.”

“And why do you look like my dad?” Connor said, suddenly identifying the peculiarity and the source of his resentment.

“I don’t, actually,” the man smiled, looking even more like Larry Murphy. “The more important question is why do _you_ think I look like your father?”

Connor wasn’t touching that one, he decided to change the topic. “So why are you here?”

“Why do _you_ think I am here?”

“Why do you think keep answering questions with questions?” Connor growled.

“Because your species thinks an answer is only right, when they’re the one to work it out.”

“So, you’re here to be a massive pain in my ass?”

“I’m here, because you no longer have an ass to feel pain.”

Connor looked at him blankly.

The man seemed to consider that for moment and then reacted to the unspoken criticism. “Not the most eloquent of phrasing, no doubt, but you established the paradigm.”

“Well mighty alien-angel-death-god what do I call you?”

The man seemed to consider that for a moment. “Barry.”

“Barry?” Connor looked at him flatly. “That’s a terrible name for a… you.”

The man just smiled and didn’t comment further.

“So, I really am dead?” Connor asked finally.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you’re here to…guide me to the afterlife?” Connor couldn’t help but smile at that, it seemed so _stupid_. Then again, he had always assumed death meant the end. Yet here he was…wherever _here_ was.

“No,” the man disagreed, “you could do that all by yourself.”

“I don’t know the way.”

“Nobody does,” the man told him gently. “But they walk the steps.”

“I don’t know if I am ready,” Connor admitted.

“You have learned a lot these past few weeks,” the man observed.

Connor nodded. “I always thought people would be better off without me. Like I was the problem. But without me, there were still problems.”

Barry grinned. “Your inherent narcism is one of the things that has endeared me to your species.”

“Thanks?” Connor said, uncertain whether he should be amused or offended.

“When you make the choice, you have to make the choice for you, not for anyone else.”

“The choice…?” Connor looked at the man bewildered. An unfamiliar, near-forgotten feeling rising in his chest. Hope. “What is my other option?”

Barry spoke slowly, as though he was guarding each word. “Well, that depends on _you_. However, if there were a contract, you might say there was some fine print one might…reconsider.”

“If there’s a contract to life and death, why wouldn’t I get to see it before now?”

“When have you ever read the fine print?”

“Fair point,” Connor admitted. “Well then what does it say?”

“Resurrection is of course a big no-no,” Barry told him, sounding almost apologetic. “As is time travel.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Connor wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to say, but Barry kept looking at him significantly – like Connor wasn’t keeping up with the conversation. He felt like he was in a play where he didn’t know his lines. “So what is my other option?”

The man used the tone of someone explaining the most obvious thing in the world. “We use time travel to resurrect you, without resurrecting you or using time travel.”

“Well… _obviously_ ,” Connor said, trying unsuccessfully to hold the sarcasm in.

“The answer is memory,” the man explained. “What you remember _now_ could impact your decisions _then_. Which is why _you_ have to make the choice.”

“I…do you even think your making sense, dude? Because you are absolutely-fucking-not.”

“Let’s say, hypothetically speaking of course,” Barry said. He looked almost…nervous. “You knew, everything you know now, on the day you _chose_ to go to the park.”

“The day I committed suicide, you mean?” Connor felt creeped out by the man’s reluctance to just come out and say it.

“The day you _died_ ,” Barry insisted. “Your _choice_ is what is unclear.”

“Oh!” Connor said, feeling relieved he was finally understanding. “Because I wasn’t sure if I tried to kill myself you’re finding a way around the rules.”

“Honestly,” Barry said – now he sounded tired, “you have no idea how exhausting it is to communicate with your species.”

“Likewise,” Connor said dryly, but he couldn’t keep from feeling excited. “How would this work?”

“You would close your eyes and everything that has happened the past few weeks would not have happened. But you will remember it.”

“Might that be a bit…confusing for me?” Connor said, unnerved at the idea. “If I go telling people that I had a conversation with God and lived an alternate-not-life for a month people will think I’m crazy.”

“I think that ship has sailed.”

“You know,” Connor said thoughtfully, “for a benevolent, all-powerful being, your kind of a dick.”

“You’re looking into a mirror, kid,” Barry told him. “That’s how this works.”

Again, Connor wasn’t ready to dive into that pool of neuroses. “If I choose, _when_ exactly do I arrive back in … the timeline… I’m not sure about the terminology here.”

“Well that’s up to you,” Barry stressed.

“Of course, but you have a suggestion.”

“Nothing ever really begins and nothing ever really ends. But there was a beginning.”

Connor nodded slowly. “The computer lab, when I found the letter that Evan wrote to himself.”

There were suddenly two doors set into the grey-mist wall beside the table.

“Doorways? That’s a bit cliché isn’t it?” Connor said, he really wasn’t sure why Barry brought out the worst in him, given the alien-angel-death-god was clearly doing him a favour.

“This is _your_ party kid,” Barry told him gently. “Maybe you ought to let the interior designer know.”

A thought occurred to Connor. “You aren’t just doing this for me, are you?”

“Doing what?” Barry said innocently. “ _I’m_ not making the choice.”

“Helping me, I mean,” Connor insisted. “If there’s something I have to do, please tell me. I don’t want to fuck this up again.”

Barry smiled and placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You will fuck up. What matters is what you do _after_.”

Connor nodded. He turned toward the door. They were –helpfully – labelled ‘Go back’ and ‘Go forward’. “Any tips?”

“I think you know what to do.”

Connor’s looked around the grey room and then down at himself incredulously. “Um…have you met me, Barry?”

Barry laughed and Connor felt himself smile.

Barry looked pensive. “Your species is at its best when you help others.”

“Huh?”

“When are you most miserable?” Barry said, trying a different strategy.

“I don’t know,” Connor hedged. “…other people annoy me a lot.”

“Do they?”

Connor knew the answer but felt reluctant to say it. “I’m at my worst when I’m alone, in my head.”

“Exactly,” Barry grinned at him. “Also try living without drugs.”

“Seriously? The almighty is a _just-say-no_ guy?”

“The almighty ain’t here and he ain’t a _guy_ , kid,” Barry told him. “For some people drugs can add something to their lives. Have they ever added to yours?”

Connor nodded. “You’re still an asshole, Barry.”

Barry grinned and offered his hand. “Good luck, kid.”

Connor shook Barry’s hand. Then, he opened the door and stepped through.


	2. Try, try again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NB - absolutely devastated that Alex Boniello and Andrew Barth Feldman are leaving the cast. Had this insane moment where I was trying to think of something to sell so I could make it to NY in the next twenty days (bish I got nothing)

Connor opened his eyes. Evan Hansen was standing in front of him.

He was alive and

…he was back in the computer lab.

Barry couldn’t have sent him somewhen better?

“Excuse me?” Evan said.

Connor realised, with surprise, Evan looked nervous. He thought back desperately. What had he done. That’s right! He had pushed him in the cafeteria. The kid probably thought he was coming to continue the argument… he couldn’t even remember what it had been about. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier, I was being an asshole.”

“Oh, that’s OK,” Evan immediately said.

Connor had the impression the kid wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, than talking to him. And really, who could blame him?

“Is that mine?” Evan pointed at the piece of paper Connor had forgotten he even held. The kid’s face had gone white.

“Oh yeah,” Connor handed it over. “I…uh…brought it to you.”

“…thanks.”

This was bad. Connor realised his natural awkwardness added with Evan’s natural awkwardness added up to a superstorm of inter-personal dysfunction. He thought of what ‘Barry’ had said, _he_ needed people. The weird Grim Reaper wannabe had also implied he was supposed to _help_ people. Part of Connor had wanted to laugh – the notion that he would be able to help anyone was laughable to him. As though thinking of the dickhead summoned him, Barry appeared over Evan’s shoulder. He nodded encouragingly, Connor had the sudden desire to punch him in the face.

“I don’t know how to do this.” Connor realised after a moment, he was the one who had spoken.

“Do what?” Evan looked, understandably, confused.

 _“Talk to him,”_ Barry said over Evan’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how to … do this, talk to people. How… every time I try I do or say the wrong thing and…I just … somewhere along the way, I stopped _trying_.”

Evan blinked. “If you’re coming to me for help, you are _shit_ out of luck.” Evan then gaped, as though shocked at what he had said.

Connor laughed. He laughed so hard and so long that he was genuinely afraid he’d choke. He hadn’t laughed in what seemed like such a long time. After a moment, he realised Evan was laughing along with him. Evan laughed hesitantly at first and then honestly.

Connor looked up and Barry was gone. _What a prick_ , he thought to himself. Then immediately realised the mysterious being had once again helped him.

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” Connor asked him, when he had finally regained his breath.

“Why?” Evan looked confused. “Why would you want to…” his face shifted, anxiety making its triumphant return to his facial expressions. “I don’t do drugs.”

Connor stifled a momentary rush of annoyance. After all, he didn’t _do_ drugs anymore. Then it occurred to him he probably still stunk of pot from that morning’s joint. The whole being-dead-undead-time-travel thing had started to hurt his head.

“No,” Connor said finally. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought we could, I don’t know, go look at some trees or something.”

 _Christ, I sound so fucking lame_ , he thought to himself.

Evan’s face shut down. It was like he had closed a door and whatever connection they had was over. “Someone told you about my arm.”

“No,” Connor put up his hands in disagreement. “Well yes, I overheard you telling the story, but I thought the thing about Ellison Park sounded nice. I mean you had an accident one time, doesn’t mean it was the …tree’s fault…” His voice trailed off.

“Is this some kind of prank?” Evan asked. He looked around as though expecting to see a group of kids waiting to laugh at him.

Connor shook his head.

“Because, if so can you just get it over with…I have to get to class.” Evan had crossed his arms, as though he was trying to hold himself together.

 _Christ he’s waiting for me to hurt him again_ , Connor thought.

When he didn’t say anything further, Evan gave him one wary look and then hurried away.

“Well shit,” Connor said to the empty room. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

Barry didn’t reply. After a moment, Connor realised that was because the strange man had already answered his question.

 _Try again_.

*

Connor went to class. It was history. It was boring. But he went and he _tried_. It seemed so weird to be back at school. He had watched these people grieve or, in most cases, not grieve his death. If not for Evan, he really would have been forgotten, then what would have happened?

Not for the first time, he wondered if he had picked the wrong door.

But, he tried.

*

Cynthia was already home. She greeted him in the loving-wary way she always interacted with him.

“Hi mom,” he said, trying to put as much genuine warmth into his voice as possible. “How was your day?”

Cynthia looked shocked, like he had just informed her he was pregnant or won a Nobel prize. He realised – feeling guilty – he had no idea when was the last time he had asked her how she was doing. “My day was OK, but you’re the one who had your first day. How did it go?”

“I fucked up,” Connor admitted.

“Connor, language, please.”

He kept himself from rolling his eyes. It took a _titanic_ effort on his part. “I was mean to this kid who didn’t deserve it. But I apologised mom, and I _tried_.”

“Well… that’s good,” she said obviously still confused.

There was a pregnant pause. Connor realised she was expecting him to ask her for something. Money, probably. He felt a flash of anger. The old shame. The knowledge she was completely right to expect so little of her son.

Cynthia flinched as though afraid of him…his mother was _afraid_ of him.

Then he thought of that motherfucker Barry.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. “I know I hurt you mom…”

“No, honey…”

“… please let me finish.”

She fell silent.

Connor took another deep breath. “I know I hurt you, emotionally at least. For the longest time I blamed you and dad for everything that went wrong. That was wrong. I know I’m not well and I want to be better.”

He looked up. Barry was standing behind his mother. The reaper-douche gave him a significant look.

“I also want,” Connor took a deep breath. “To try and get clean.”

There was an unfamiliar emotion in his mother’s eyes. Hope. That’s all it took, to give his mother hope. He just had to suggest he might be open to the _possibility_ of change.

 _Good thing I set a low fucking bar for myself_.

“That’s wonderful, Connor,” she said finally. Her eyes showed the beginning of two tears.

“Would you be able to drive me to one of those meetings tonight?”

Cynthia immediately looked concerned. “Well I’m really happy you want to do something positive… it’s just last time you ended up…”

 _Buying drugs_ , he remembered.

“How about you pick which meeting,” Connor suggested. “That way you know I’m not going to meet anyone.”

Cynthia smiled. “OK.”

*

The following morning Connor tried again.

“Is today going to be a big day at work, dad?”

Larry blinked. He looked up from the newspaper, as though bewildered to find a new creature sitting at the breakfast table. “I… I’m not sure, Connor.”

Connor took a deep breath. “I was thinking, if you have time this weekend, maybe we could go… see a movie or something.”

His father looked wary. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother kick his father under the table.

“That, would be…nice,” his father agreed.

*

“I know what you’re doing,” Zoe said to him.

Connor had been deep in thought. “Huh?”

“You’re manipulating our parents,” she said. Zoe kept her eyes on the road as she drove them to school.

“I’m not,” he said. He sounded tired. He _felt_ tired. The previous night had been the first without anything. Without pot, without Xanax, without so much as a fucking sip of cold medicine. He had slept maybe four hours in all and only fitfully.

“Why else would you suddenly try to be _nice_?” Zoe bit out the last word, as though she was swearing.

“I had an overdose,” he said. He hadn’t meant to tell her that, at least not yet. But he was so exhausted that apparently it was easier to tell the truth.

Her hands gripped the wheel even tighter. “You…when?”

Connor felt genuinely concerned. He had never realised just how highly strung his sister was.

“A few days ago,” he said, “honestly, I’m a bit confused about exactly when, my brain is scattered at the moment.”

Her lips were a single colourless line slashed across her face. “I see.”

“I nearly died and I realised,” he breathed, deeply, the air tasted bitter. “I have been an asshole and … a bad brother.”

For the longest time, Zoe didn’t say anything at all. Then she stopped the car and put it into park. He realised, with surprise, they were already at school.

“That wasn’t an apology,” Zoe said quietly.

“I know,” he admitted.

They both got out of the car.

She looked at him briefly and for the shortest moment, they were almost OK. “It’s a start.”

With that she was gone.


End file.
